


What to Expect When You Aren't Actually Expecting (a Tiny, Green Sorcerer Baby)

by blackglass, bluegeekEM



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Accidental Baby Yoda Acquisition, Audio Format: MP3, Audio Format: Streaming, Families of Choice, Gen, ManDadlorian, Parent-Child Relationship, Parenthood, Podfic, Podfic Length: 30-45 Minutes, Vague references to trauma & recovery, parenting struggles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:46:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25456435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackglass/pseuds/blackglass, https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluegeekEM/pseuds/bluegeekEM
Summary: When Din had the time and inclination to consider what he'dthoughthis life would be like, the possibility of raising an unknown species' lost toddler with mystical powers wasn't anywhere on the list.A story told via parenting memes.
Relationships: Baby Yoda & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)
Comments: 69
Kudos: 185
Collections: Pod_Together 2020





	What to Expect When You Aren't Actually Expecting (a Tiny, Green Sorcerer Baby)

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Ceewelsh and blackglass for their valuable beta help!

  
  
Cover art by: [reena_jenkins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reena_jenkins)  


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****

****

_ [image text: An image of a dinner table with the caption: “I’ve had kids for 7 years now and literally every night I’m still like what the hell do I feed these things for dinner”] _

After their escape from the Imps and departure from Nevarro, the kid had finally hit an adrenaline crash - or what passed for that in his species - and fallen into a fitful sleep.

He hadn’t eaten anything when Karga had offered him some of the stores they’d hastily packed onto the _Razor Crest_ , but at this point Din figured that sleep was a more pressing concern.

Din kept the pod with him in the cockpit as usual and watched as the kid’s eyes moved under his lids and he occasionally twitched in his sleep.

It wasn’t until the kid merely picked at breakfast the next morning and then refused the midday meal entirely that Din began to worry.

He offered rations, both fresh and preserved, broth, and even the last of the dried grinjer from Sorgan. Each of his offerings were met with a sigh and drooping green ears. He’d even tried to spoon feed the kid - complete with entreaties to ‘open wide for the space ship’ - which had at least garnered him a brief, disdainful reaction.

Now, they both sat in silence in the _Crest’s_ cockpit while Din tried to puzzle through this new problem. Each time he turned to scrutinize the kid, he was met with an unwavering gaze that was only interrupted by the occasional blink. Din had seen the kid swallow an amphibian whole on Arvala-7; he normally wasn’t all that picky. What was wrong with him now?

After returning the kid to Din’s care, IG-11 had said his condition was stable aside from a few bruises, and whatever the droid’s… quirks, he had eventually convinced Din of the sincerity of his new programming. So the kid’s behavior was probably not due to a physical ailment. Which meant…

Din let his head fall back and stared out of the top of the view port at the passing stars.

What did _he_ know about the emotional and mental well being of the young of a species he’d yet to even identify?

Fine. He couldn’t rely on knowledge of the kid in particular, so what did he know about kids in general?

Very little, in fact. Din’s own childhood, well…

Okay, that wasn’t a terrible idea, actually. When he’d been adopted as a foundling by the Mandalorians, he’d actually been in worse shape, in the beginning. So what could he take from that?

In the early days, the Mandalorians in charge of the foundlings had laid out what was expected of the children within their care. Everyone had to contribute in some way to their tribe and it was made clear that they each had value and a responsibility to uphold the Mandalorian creed. But within those expectations, the foundlings were given some degree of self-determination.

When delivering a necessary supply across the compound, Din could choose whether to take the shorter route that would require him to encounter more of his fellow inhabitants or to take the more circuitous route that would allow him to travel uninterrupted. Din was expected to train in all the basic skills expected of a future Mandalorian, but was permitted to decide which skills to focus mastery on. He’d been expected to keep his body fed and washed regularly, though he could choose when and how to do so, within the constraints of his other duties.

Din turned again and looked at the kid. The Mandalorians had shown their approval and trust in him by accepting him into their fold, training him, and guiding him in earning his first armor.

Perhaps...

That night, Din put his plan into action. He set the kid on top of a stack of storage containers and sat near him at the table with a meal pack for each of them. Din replied to the kid’s questioning look with, “You don’t have to eat anything you don’t want to, but you can keep me company while I eat.”

Then, with only a brief hesitation, Din lifted the helmet from his head and set it aside. He began eating his dinner without further fanfare, keeping an eye on the kid with his peripheral vision.

Though wide-eyed and frozen for the first minute, the kid seemed to settle into this new reality after glancing back and forth between Din’s face and helmet several times.

Once the kid’s body language settled, Din started talking, letting the kid adjust to his voice without the effect of the helmet’s audio relay. Between bites, Din told the kid about his plan for the first leg of their journey.

By halfway through his meal, Din had spoken to the kid more today than he’d done across a span of weeks. It was kind of exhausting, actually.

The kid was apparently more adaptable than Din had been as a child, because when Din stood to refill his water, he noticed the kid reaching for a piece of bread on Din’s plate. The wave of relief he felt when the kid popped it into his mouth surprised him.

When Din sat down again, the kid made no move to reach for anything else. Din considered, and then decided to take a risk.

“If you aren’t in the mood for your broth, mind if I finish it?” Din reached for the kid’s bowl before he even finished speaking and was cut off by a small squeak as the kid snapped up the bowl himself. Looking at Din, he raised the bowl to his mouth and slurped loudly, drinking nearly the entire thing within a minute.

Din surprised both himself and the kid with his laugh, and the kid lowered the bowl from his face. He glanced down at the dregs and then up at Din, eventually raising the bowl towards Din with a querying sound. There were crumbs of the kid’s stolen bread floating in it.

The kid shook the bowl slightly when Din didn’t accept his offering immediately.

“No, I’m okay. You go ahead and finish it.”

The kid takes him at his word, slurps down the rest of the bowl, and then turns to the ration pack in front of him and begins to systematically demolish it.

Not wanting to break the spell by commenting upon the kid’s returned appetite, Din returned to his own plate and continued to eat and talk at the kid.

He talked with his mouth full, sometimes, but figured it was better to focus on getting the kid to eat first and worry about the dubious benefit of manners later.

* * *

  
_ [image text: a picture of a masked serial killer with the caption “When you wake up and your kid is staring at you from the side of the bed like”] _

Although IG-11’s insistence on treating Din had saved his life, he still had a lot of healing and recovery to do. Going one on one with a TIE fighter so soon after a serious head injury and then fighting gravity in a jetpack he had only rudimentary skill with had, perhaps, not been the best thing for his battered body.

But he’d done it, and they’d survived.

The first night after their standoff and subsequent escape, while they were both recovering from their ordeals, Din and the kid had slept. Fitfully, but they’d slept.

After that?

Well. Not so much.

To be more precise, Din could still sleep. He _absolutely_ could sleep. Time had only allowed the bruises and strains to fully blossom and announce themselves the next morning. Sleep would be an excellent way of both restoring his body _and_ avoiding some of the post-battle discomfort.

He needed to recover as quickly as possible so he could figure out how to even start finding the kid’s people.

So, of course, this was when the kid just… stopped sleeping for any significant length of time.

The next night, though Din was able to fall asleep fairly readily, he’d jerked awake - which was extremely uncomfortable when every part of your body, and especially your head, hurt like hell - several times with the knowledge that he was being… watched.

Each time, he found the kid nearby. Staring. When he realized that he’d been spotted, the kid would lift a tiny clawed hand in Din’s direction until Din had picked him up and returned him to his pod.

That didn’t stop the staring, though. Just relocated the source.

* * *

  
_ [image text: Other Moms: My kids go to bed without a fuss. Me: Cool. Tonight I googled “tranquilizer darts for home use.”] _

The silent staring turned out to be the best of the available options for how the kid could be spending his sleep refusal time. When the kid reached the point of alternating between dumping out the contents of every unlocked container on Din’s ship and practicing his sorcerer’s abilities by floating said contents and crashing them into bulkheads… well. Din began to wonder if The Armorer had known that the task she’d assigned him would be just as much punishment as mission.

Din had resisted the urge for the past four nights, and he would continue to resist that urge for the foreseeable future, as well. But he couldn’t deny that he’d glanced at his weapons locker and desperately envisioned picking up the tranq pistol at least once per night since this phase of the kid’s development had begun.

He just hadn’t decided if he was fantasizing using it on the kid or himself.

* * *

  
_ [Image text: To the woman in Old Navy who just whispered “are you fucking kidding me” to her toddler laying on the floor screaming, I see you. I am you.] _

The thing was, they were both a little… on edge. Neither Din nor the kid were getting enough regular sleep, and they were at the very beginning stages of what was shaping up to be a long and tedious mission to find the kid’s people. They both still had healing bruises and scrapes from the whole debacle with the Imps, for crying out loud.

So it was, perhaps, not entirely a shock when they both hit their respective walls.

It was unfortunate - well, _more_ unfortunate - that it happened in the middle of a public market on Pastoria.

Once Din discovered that the contact he’d come to see was nothing more than a dead end - literally, the guy hadn’t even survived the damned war - he’d just wanted to replenish a few supplies and then try to catch a nap on the _Razor Crest_ before they’d need to move on. It was wise to avoid lingering too long in one place so soon after Nevarro.

The kid had absolutely panicked when Din had tried to leave him behind in the relative safety of the _Crest_ , so Din had brought him along.

By the time they were halfway through the market, the child’s shuffling walk beside Din grew slower and slower until Din had finally picked him up to avoid being separated in the patchy crowd. The kid’s eyelids were heavy and his blinks grew longer and longer, obviously suffering from his determination to avoid sleep. Maybe this would be the end of the ridiculous sleep strike the kid had latched onto?

Carrying the kid helped to speed up the shopping process, however once Din started amassing enough supplies, he couldn’t carry those, plus the kid, and draw his weapon efficiently if it came to that. So he put the kid down and told him he’d need to walk the rest of the way to the _Crest_ and then watched as the kid blinked up at him for several moments before lifting his arms in an entreaty.

“No. We are almost finished and will leave soon. Until then, you need to walk on your own.”

The kid’s lip trembled slightly and his ears drooped more than Din had ever seen before.

And then the kid threw himself down onto the dirt and began to… well. An angry and forlorn wail was probably the most accurate description of the kid’s sobs.

The display didn’t stop all activity in the market square, but Din and the kid did get a number of significant looks from passersby, ranging from “can’t you shut that brat up?” to suspicious glances, to “oh, you poor sucker.”

The latter were often accompanied by a sympathetic glance, and one man even dared to pat Din on his armored shoulder and wish him luck.

“These years are tough, but you’ll make it through.” Then the man shrugged. “Probably.”

Great.

If this kept up, they would draw far too much attention and Din wouldn’t be able to take the kid anywhere. And since the kid wouldn’t let Din out of his sight, that would pose a significant problem.

Din sighed and piled their supplies to the side. He picked up the kid, holding him high enough against his chest that even as the wails tapered off, Din could still hear the soggy snuffling as the kid continued to cry.

“Tough stage?”

Din managed not to draw a blaster on the woman who had appeared next to them, but that was mostly because both arms were currently occupied with quieting the kid. Which was exactly the kind of vulnerability he’d been trying to avoid, thanks.

The woman was short and muscular, with a broad smile on her sympathetic face. “Seems like half the time their energy seems endless and the other half they are on the verge of an exhaustion-fueled meltdown.”

“That… would seem to be the case.” Din replied, cautiously.

“I recommend picking up a sling.” The woman pointed towards a stall in the far corner of the square. “Yeorg can help you pick the right size that’ll fit your little one now but also continue to work as they grow. It’s a great way to keep them close and feeling secure while freeing up your arms to get some work done. Everyone’s happy.”

Wouldn’t that be a miracle? It was worth a try, at the least.

“Thank you. I appreciate the suggestion,” Din replied.

“You’re welcome. It’s nice to pass along a few of the things I learned with my crew.”

Din cocked his head to the side.

The woman’s smile widened even further. “Triplets. They kept me on my toes.” The woman offered Din a wave and returned to her own errands.

Din looked down at the kid curled against his chestplate. This, in triplicate?

The idea was enough to send a frisson of alarm down Din’s spine.

**

The thing was, it _worked_. Not only could Din maintain a better pace while having access to both arms for supplies or protection, but depending on how he carried the kid, he could even shelter him beneath Din’s cape for additional concealment from curious eyes.

And it cut down on the new-onset tantrums by a significant amount.

* * *

  
_ [Image text: An image of a curled tentacle with the caption “Sleeping with a toddler is like sharing your bed with a drunk octopus looking for its car keys”] _

Naps in the sling aside, in the quiet battle of wills regarding where and when the child would sleep, Din ultimately had to admit defeat when the kid made it clear that ‘where’ would be only where Din was and ‘when’ would be only when Din was also sleeping… or at least feigning it.

The child tossed and turned regularly through the night, sometimes just a simple move to a new position, but other times seemingly in response to dreams. Or nightmares, given that Din could hear the occasional sound of sleepy distress.

Din, too, had returned to a state of hyper alert anxiety unlike any he’d experienced since his own childhood, a similar restlessness interrupting his own ability to sleep deeply.

Once they’d both adjusted to the solution of Din carrying the kid around in the sling, however, the kid’s overall mood improved dramatically. Between the near-constant proximity and the naps he’d begun to succumb to while tucked into the sling and rocked by Din’s gait, the kid had finally begun to resemble his former self; wide-eyes following the activity around him and curious babbles beginning to return.

From there, it wasn’t much of a leap to Din waking from a restless doze to find the kid climbing into Din’s bunk and snuggling in beside him during the night.

He’d initially drawn the kid’s pod closer and deposited the kid back into it, but he soon learned that it wouldn’t be long before the kid was climbing back in with Din, and eventually fatigue and helpless frustration led him to at least give it a try.

It wasn’t the most restful sleep Din had ever had.

That first night, the kid’s kicking, rolling, and even occasional scratching made it very difficult for Din to settle in for longer than a nap before he’d be awake again. And that didn’t even cover his fear of rolling over onto the kid accidentally, or having a nightmare himself and reacting instinctively if the kid caught him in a bad moment.

The second and third times the kid crawled in with him, both of them slept for longer stretches between waking each other. And by the end of a week, Din awoke in the morning with only the vague memory of shifting a couple times during the night to place a hand on the restless kid’s head until he quieted again, and a fleeting sensation of feeling the kid’s own clawed hand gently rubbing against Din’s jaw in a similar manner.

* * *

  
_ [Image text: 90% of parenting is just thinking about when you can lie down again.] _

The kid settled into the pile of blankets between Din’s pillow and the bulkhead and then looked up at Din, eyes sharp for any sign that Din was going to try and leave him there on his own.

Din sat on the bunk and reached out his hand, resting it on the kid’s wrinkled, green head and beginning to pet in their now-habitual custom. The child cooed softly, the familiar noise of contentment that was a good indication that he’d likely stay asleep tonight, so long as Din stuck around until he was fully out.

Which was a vast improvement on the situation compared to immediately after the child’s kidnapping (re-kidnapping? re-re-kidnapping?) Din had to admit, though still a far cry from ideal.

The kid made noises in his sleep. They were less often distressed noises, now, but still, he wasn’t a sound sleeper. He also rolled and turned, and Din still occasionally awoke to the feeling of tiny clawed hands pulling his hair or clutching his collar.

“We are not doing this forever, you know,” Din warned, though he didn't stop the caress.

The kid just blinked slowly up at Din while leaning into his hand. Din sighed and continued the movement until the kid’s eyelids drooped and eventually closed for good. Din rested his hand on the kid’s head for several seconds, not moving, and waited to see if he would object. When none came, Din slowly lifted his hand away.

The kid remained asleep.

**

It was another week before the kid would even consider the idea of sleeping in his pod. Finally, Din pulled the pod as close to the bunk as it could get, which was essentially as close as the kid was when he slept by Din’s pillow. Din lay in bed with the kid peering over at him from the pod and Din reached out his arm to rest against the kid’s head.

The tiny body relaxed when Din began the ritual of stroking across his forehead, and though it took about twice as long for the kid to fall asleep, he did, eventually, fall asleep in his own bed. On purpose. And then, miracle of miracles, he stayed asleep the whole night.

Din jerked awake once in the middle of the night, possibly alarmed by the lack of the kid’s breathing in his ear, but a quick glance into the pod reassured him that the kid was okay.

This was fine, though. Completely fine. He would adapt.

* * *

  
_[image text 1: Be kind to everyone you meet. You just never know who lost an argument with a 3-year-old today.]_

_ [image text 2: Me: No. Kids: Hmmm. I feel like maybe you’re not completely committed to that no. I’m gonna ask you 852 more times and see.] _

By the time the child sighed for a fourth time, this one the loudest and longest yet, Din couldn’t resist his own answering sigh in response. He was loud enough for the audio sensor in his helmet to pick it up and transmit it, so he supposed he’d given the kid some competition. At least the helmet hid the roll of his eyes at each successive outburst.

“What crawled up your ass?”

Never let it be said that Cara Dune was a naturally sympathetic entity.

“The kid and I are having a difference of opinion on… everything today.”

They’d been on Naboo for less than a day and he was already prepared to take flight as soon as possible. The planet was too close to the core planets for Mando’s comfort and the kid was chafing at the restrictions their need for secrecy placed upon him. He couldn’t let the kid wander around where he could be seen by other people, but the kid was constantly lured by the bustle of a crowd or laughter from groups of children passing the safehouse where they were holed up.

Din hadn’t been able to find a distraction to amuse him for long before he’d start walking towards the door, waving his little arms around as he approached, as though maybe _this_ time Din wouldn’t stop him and remind him that it _still_ wasn’t safe for them to leave yet. Then the kid would sulk and sigh, turning sad eyes on Din every so often to check to see if his guilt-trip was having an effect.

Cara, testing out her newfound freedom now that her chain code problems had disappeared thanks to the Guild, had met them on-planet and arranged a rendezvous with a new contact, an avid galactic historian who might have some insight into the warriors from the days of the Old Republic with mystical powers similar to those mentioned by the Armorer.

Cara snorted. “Why don’t I keep an eye on the kid and try to lure him out of his funk while you get supplies? Maybe grab a drink, get a massage, or- oh! We’ve got another two days before the meeting with my contact. You could go and visit Omera for a little-”

“I get the idea, Cara.” Din paused, desperately wanting to take her offer at face value and leave before she could laugh and reveal the joke. “I thought you weren’t in the business of babysitting.”

“Let’s call it ‘personal growth’ and chalk it up to the little guy growing on me since we survived an Imperial attack, firebombing, and cruise down a river of lava together.”

Din caught the small smile she sent the kid’s way, as well as the hand she’d placed on his tiny back.

“Now go, we’ll be fine.”

Well. Din could maybe admit that Cara was _occasionally_ a sympathetic person.

“I’ll even give you a discount on my nanny fee.”

Hmm. She’d just earned herself a downgrade to “rarely,” but Din wasn’t going to mention that until after he got back.

* * *

  
_ [image text: “You know your life has changed when… going to the grocery store by yourself is a vacation.” -motherhood] _

Going on a resupply mission was an entirely different experience solo than with a toddler trailing alongside, especially now that the kid had partially outgrown the use of the sling again and sometimes insisted on his freedom of movement.

He didn’t escape all notice - that wasn’t the Mandalorian way, after all - but he certainly garnered far _less_ of it without a small green fugitive in tow. And his anxiety levels about the kid being kidnapped or mistakenly choking a shopkeeper who refused to haggle were significantly lower.

It was almost refreshing.

**

Din handed credits over to the merchant after securing the woman’s agreement to have the supplies he’d purchased delivered to the spaceport where he’d docked the _Razor Crest_. As he turned to leave, he caught sight of a small basket of sweets in a variety of animal shapes and his eye lingered on a frog-shaped cookie with sugar crystal decoration.

“Those are a little treat the wife bakes up every so often,” the merchant says. “Always a hit with the littles.”

Din considered his own “little” and nodded. “I would imagine so.”

Except that the kid rarely ever _asked_ for anything when Din brought him out, always seemingly content to look around with wide eyes and soak up the worlds and people around him.

Din actually made it two steps towards the door before he stopped and looked at the ceiling, shaking his head.

When he turned around, the merchant was already wrapping the cookie in paper and string.

* * *

  
_ [image text: That moment when you go to check on your sleeping baby and his eyes ping open, so you drop to the floor and roll out of the room like a ninja.] _

Once the kid had started sleeping again Din thought he would have been relieved. And he _was_. They’d even been able to move the kid’s bassinet to different places on the ship, and the kid had been able to fall and stay asleep even without Din’s presence.

It’s just… Din had apparently gotten used to the child’s extreme proximity. The familiar sound of his breaths slowing and deepening with sleep, the occasional soft noises he made, and being able to glance over at him and see immediately that he was _there_ and _okay_.

Well.

If Din maybe checked in on the kid every so often when he was up late past the kid’s bedtime or newly returned from a quick credit-making job, well, no one would know besides himself.

And the kid, when he caught Din in the act.

Between the kid’s outsized ears and his sorcerer’s abilities, Din wasn’t sure whether it was a sound or some other sense that tipped the kid off, but every so often when Din would check in on him, the kid’s eyes would pop open and Din would freeze, hiding behind a bulkhead or ducking down behind a storage crate until the kid’s eyes stopped searching the dim ship and settled back to sleep.

* * *

  
_ [image text: an image of an adult duck followed by a line of ducklings with the caption “When a mom tries to walk anywhere in the house”] _

“There’s been no trouble?” Din looked around, cataloguing the few changes to the little Sorgan village since he and the kid had last been here.

‘No, none,” Omera replied. “No raiders, no bounty hunters, nothing remotely weird or exciting. Just the way we like it.”

Din couldn’t tell if she was earnest or sarcastic with that statement, but was interrupted from the decision of whether to press by a pack of the village children galloping up and sweeping the kid off to play.

“And you haven’t heard anyone asking around about the kid?”

Omera shook her head. “Nothing. Have you reconsidered settling down for a while? Is it safe enough?”

“No.” Din chose to ignore the muddle of emotions that gave him. “Can’t risk it. And I need to find the kid’s people. If others had come by searching for him here it could have given me an idea of where to look next, but it’s better that you’ve been left alone.”

Omera nodded. “Will you stay the night, then? The barn is still available, and your son looks like he’s enjoying playing with the other children.”

Din considered. “We can stay. I’ll check the perimeter defenses and the surrounding forest while I’m here.”

“Thank you.”

**

Din examined the remnants of the village’s defenses, and noted where to suggest they make repairs and improvements in case any remaining raiders are brave enough, or foolhardy enough, to visit the village again. As Omera had said, the surrounding forest was clear, without signs of monitoring.

What Din did pick up, however, was a growing tail.

Though content to play with the village children while Din was in view, as soon as he started to head outside the village, the kid had abandoned his playmates and begun to follow Din on his rounds. Winta stuck with the kid, and they both shadowed Din throughout his survey. That led to the other children noticing and joining the procession. Each stop that Din made, the pack of kids made as well. They searched the ground, examined trees stripped of their bark, and scanned up into the foliage, parroting each of Din’s movements.

When he returned to the village center with his line of devotees trailing behind him, he found Omera and Stoke grinning at him.

Stoke opened his mouth, but thought better of whatever he’d been about to say when Din crossed his arms and faced him silently, closing it again with a snap.

“Dinner’s ready,” Omera told them. “Caben’s best stew tonight. Let’s get our brave adventurers some food, shall we?” Though she didn’t comment on Din’s collection of the village's children, her smile and laughing eyes spoke volumes.

* * *

  
_ [image text 1: an image of a woman holding an object in triumph with the caption “Spoil all the nieces and nephews!”] _

The kid didn’t _need_ toys. He’d been perfectly happy messing around with detachable pieces of Din’s ship before and looked perfectly content to _continue_ to do so for the foreseeable future.

Omera seemed more inclined to ensure that their basic survival needs were being met and mostly left it at that. Cara had a habit of checking in for the occasional proof of life or offer of child-distraction services.

Greef, however… Greef was apparently raised to maintain very clear opinions of what childhood should include and what his role as a self-appointed uncle entailed. In addition to also insisting that Din provide regular updates on the kid and their progress towards finding his people, Greef also pestered Din about the adequacy of the kid’s diet (“Anything he sees me eat, plus the occasional frog.”), the kid’s sporadic use of his sorcerer powers (“He hasn’t choked anyone lately, and he’s turning into an excellent lie-detector.”), and whether Din was providing the kid with a developmentally appropriate environment (“We only got shot at twice last week. I think that’s pretty enriching.”).

“Mando! You can’t just let the kid waste away on that ship of yours! You need to provide him with all the right childhood experiences!” With that broad statement, Greef set aside a crate in the _Razor Crest’s_ hold and set off down the ramp towards another, smaller crate.

Now that the kid was eating and sleeping with a relative minimum of fuss, Din felt it unlikely that the kid was in danger of wasting away. And given that he still had a strong preference for being with Din whenever possible, he was getting a _wealth_ of life experiences. Whether they were considered child-appropriate, Din didn’t think he was qualified to assess. His own childhood wasn’t exactly… standard.

Greef rolled his eyes unsubtly and grumbled throughout Din’s examination of the crates for tracking devices or hidden dangers.

“Mando! Who do you take me for?”

When Din didn’t answer him and merely stared, Greef grimaced and made a conciliatory gesture. “Yes, well, we’ve all made some poor decisions at some point in our lives. But I like to think that I’ve shown that I see the error of my ways and am on your side! And the kid’s! He did save my life, you’ll remember.”

Din turned back to the boxes and Greef appeared to accept that as at least grudging acceptance, if not ringing endorsement, of their pseudo-partnership.

Inside the larger crate was a stash of medical supplies, including a newer model scanner than anything Din had available on the ship, a small stack of books on child development and communicating with one’s pre-verbal child, and a pile of additional ration stores labelled as providing balanced nutritional content to a broad range of species.

“Are you joking?” Din was fairly sure that the speakers on his helmet failed to properly convey his skepticism.

“Nope. You’ve been winging it fairly well overall thus far, but I wanted to make sure you’re more prepared in the future.” Greef looked pleased with himself.

“And these books will help prepare me to raise an unidentified species of alien child with unexplainable powers while being hunted down by Imperials with unknown motivations?”

Greef looked impatient. “How about we start with the basics and work our way up, okay, Mando?”

The second crate contained another stack of books, this set aimed towards the child, along with a few holos, a small pile of nobbly-looking blocks, and a stuffed fathier toy with long, floppy ears.

Greef plucked the fathier from the crate and handed it over to the kid watching them from below.

The child ran his hand through the fur on the fathier’s back for several moments, before tugging the toy close to him in a hold similar to Din’s own when carrying the kid in the sling.

“See! He likes it!” Greef crowed and turned to look at Din with pride.

“Fine. But nothing else. There’s limited storage room on the ship for non-essentials.”

“Oh, Mando, you’ve still got a lot to learn.”

Din was sure that was true, actually, but he certainly wasn’t about to concede that now.

* * *

  
_ [image text: Some days I slay at motherhood. Other days I realize I’ve had a huge dinosaur sticker on my ass all day.] _

  
Din was used to his presence garnering stares in most places he traveled, so the glances didn’t have any more weight than normal. The occasional snort or chuckle that followed, however, was cause for a bit of concern.

His curiosity about the source for the amusement abandoned him when he caught sight of his target, however, and didn’t re-emerge until later when he’d handed the mark back over to Greef and accepted his fee.

“New fashion choice, Mando? Can’t say it fits your aesthetic, but it does make a statement.”

Din didn’t respond, but he did head straight back to the _Razor Crest_ to examine what caused that particular statement.

Once sequestered back on the ship, he found a neon-colored sticker featuring a character from a popular children’s holo plastered to the back of his helmet. Where it had apparently been all day since the kid had perched on his shoulder during the Crest’s landing on the target’s planet of residence.

Din wasn’t sure if he was more dismayed by how long it took him to discover the sticker or by the fact that he recognized its origin from children’s entertainment.

Because apparently this was his life, now.

* * *

  
_ [image text: A toddler can do more in one unsupervised minute than most people can do all day.] _

Cara snorted in laughter beside him. Din was fairly certain that she didn’t even attempt to spare him from her amusement at his predicament.

“This isn’t funny.”

“It is though,” she replied, still laughing. “It really, really is.”

“We’ll see how much you laugh when we’re cleaning this off the walls.”

“‘We?’ Oh no, I’m not the one who left the baby alone with paint. Why do you even have all this shit? Taking up art as a side hustle, Mando?”

“Funny. It’s a dye that is used to mark trails when terrain screws with sensor readings. It’s useful, not fun.”

“Yeah, well, the kid seems to feel differently. I hope that stuff isn’t absorbed through the skin, because I definitely see handprints over on that bulkhead over there.”

Din had a brief moment of panic as he snatched up one of the mostly-empty canisters littering the ground and scanned the label. “It’s non-toxic.”

“Well, that’s something, at least. And where is Karga? Wasn’t he supposed to be babysitting?”

“Good question.” Din looked around, but there was no sign of either the kid or Greef, but he’d find them. He always did.

* * *

  
_ [image text: I just had to apologize to a toy alligator and kiss a racecar goodnight. Parenthood is weirder than I thought it’d be.] _

Din settled the kid into the bassinet again and rested his gloved hand on top of the kid’s head. After a moment, the kid closed his eyes in a long blink and Din suspected he’d settle well for the night. Din turned away but stopped at the soft inquisitive sound he heard from the kid. Turning back, he saw the bulbous head of the fathier toy thrust out toward him with the kid’s eyes wide and expectant behind it.

Din paused. What, exactly, was he supposed to do with the toy?

“No, thank you. That’s yours. You keep it.”

The kid nodded and chirped, shaking the toy gently in Din’s direction.

Din stepped back to the bassinet’s side and reached out to accept the toy, having no idea what he’d _do_ with it once the kid handed it over, but the kid just shook it at him again, arm outstretched but not appearing ready to let go.

Din tilted his head, considering for another moment before he turned away, figuring this was going to be one of those things he just wouldn’t understand about the kid. As soon as he did, however, he heard another sound from behind him, this one sounding… sad?

He walked back and looked down at the kid. “I don’t understand.”

The kid looked back up at him solemnly and rubbed his own clawed hand on the head of the stuffed creature, and-

Oh.

This time, when the kid raised the toy up to him hopefully, Din rested his hand on the fathier’s head and rubbed what served as its forehead. The kid chirped in satisfaction as he drew it back and settled down into his blankets, eyes finally beginning to close for real.

Guarding and guiding the kid was surprising in a variety of ways. Some of them, at least, were good.

* * *

~*~END~*~

**Author's Note:**

> Author's notes: The inspiration for this story comes from several friends who are parents and approach some of the challenges and joys of raising children with humor and memes. I happen to have a huge love for found family themes and The Mandalorian fits that bill nicely :) During the brainstorming process for pod_together, I was really in the need for some fun, fluffy, and endearing escapism, and thus this idea shot to the top of my list. I am _so_ happy that blackglass was enthusiastic and supportive of me indulging in that!
> 
> Podficcer's notes: Thank you so much to bluegeekEM for writing this adorably fluffy fic for me to read! And for encouraging my music choice; if you enjoyed the musical excerpts you heard in the intro/outro, I _HIGHLY_ recommend watching the [music video for it](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bwzt1itvW6Q), which is HILARIOUS. The music interlude sting is from the show's soundtrack, specifically the track "The Baby." Finally, thank you so much to reena_jenkins for creating the cover art and for providing pronunciation help!


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